


Always Get Back Up

by MMLE



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode: s01e09 Speak of the Devil, Episode: s01e10 Nelson v. Murdock, Gen, Missing Scene, Points of View, Stabbing, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-01
Packaged: 2018-05-04 07:55:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5326544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MMLE/pseuds/MMLE
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scenes from the period between S01E09 ("Speak of the Devil") and E10 ("Nelson v. Murdock") featuring Matt 'Contrary S.O.B.' Murdock and his point of view... when he's actually conscious. </p>
<p>{Chapter 1} getting home from the warehouse / {Chapter 2} getting patched up / {Chapter 3} after Foggy leaves</p>
            </blockquote>





	Always Get Back Up

The force of impact was nearly enough to rob Matt of his feeble hold on consciousness. The water current muffled his remaining senses. He had the fleeting thought to just let go; drowning would be a quick death now and he was otherwise fighting a losing battle. _No._ _Swim, come on Matty_ _._ He pushed through the dark, hoping he moved along the Hudson and not deeper into its depths. He wouldn’t have enough strength to climb back for air.

Matt’s lungs were weak. Not fully recovered from the puncture week’s ago, and in his current state he couldn’t tell what further damage Nobu’s blade had caused. But he did know that each second below the surface was agony. The heat built in his chest. He was going to have to come up for air but Fisk’s men must be patrolling the shore. As best as his battered body could manage, he took a quick breaststroke above the water and sucked in a sweet gulp of air.

 _Swim, Matt, swim_. The slashes on his arms and back throbbed with each stroke.  He thought of Foggy. If he died in this river, Foggy would never know what happened to his best friend. That thought propelled his movements. At least if he made it to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen and his body was recovered, Foggy might eventually connect the pieces. He bit down his fear and rising panic. _You will not die in this river. You will get home. Stroke._ Stroke _._

After a small eternity, Matt picked up the scent of rotting wood. A pier. He raised his head above the river and although his hearing was tunneling, he could faintly make out the sound of small waves cresting. He swam in that direction until his feet mercifully hit rocks and he half stumbled ashore. A part of him braced for the sound and impact of Fisk’s gunfire. But Matt was alone.

As quickly as he could, he shuffled east. The deepest cut – where he’d been dragged – kept him from fully elevating and his feet were unsteady below him. _Move, Matt, come on. You’re so close._ He knew the warehouse where he started his swim was located on 48 th and Matt suspected he’d swum north. With any luck ( _ha_ ), he should only be a few long blocks from his apartment. He focused all his concentration on letting in his surroundings, to find something familiar. Dizzy from blood loss and pain, it was difficult work. But there -- in the distance -- the low rumble of the local train at 50th and a flood of relief as Matt noted his position. Three blocks, two avenues to home. _Come on Matty. You’re there, you’re there_.

The city was quiet; he suspected it was around 3:00 AM. Thankfully, there was less chance of detection with fewer people around. He could only imagine how he’d look: bleeding, barely upright, New York’s Most Wanted. He contemplated climbing to the rooftops but knew his strength could not carry him. The cold of river was settling in to his bones and his trembling deepened. There’d be no way he could survive hypothermia and two liters of blood loss; he needed to take the quickest route home. He cut along the blocks he knew to be the least busy, taking alleys and remaining under the shadows of scaffolding where able.

With each step, his strength faded. He thought of the alley where his dad had died and the irony of the very real possibility that he would end the same way. His dad would have wanted better for him. He swallowed his guilt and pressed on through sheer will alone, his thoughts occupied by nothing but _step, step, step_ in time to his shuffles.

Finally – gloriously – he reached the back of his apartment building. With the last ounce of his strength, he shouldered the door leading to the maintenance stairwell open with a cry. He collapsed at the foot of the stairs and heaved for breath. _Don’t stop here, you’re four flights from home… just need to reach the roof access level._ He crawled his way up, relying on his hands as much as his feet. The climb seemed to take ages but finally he reached the upper-level access to his apartment. He felt like he could literally float away into its warmth and familiar smells.

Matt’s hearing was coming in and out, his breathing ragged. He felt anxious but didn’t know the source. _Wait, how did I get here? I don’t remember coming in._ So confused. Knees no longer supporting his weight, sinking beneath him. He knew in that moment there was something he should be doing, someone he should be calling… but he couldn’t remember who or how he’d achieve that. His body hit the floor. It felt good to lie down. _If this is dying, it’s not so bad in the end._ With his last breaths, he thought he smelled the comforting pine of Foggy’s aftershave one last time. 


End file.
